The Black Knife

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Excerpt from The Mirror King Seven

  Eight

  Back Ads

  About the Author

  Books by Jodi Meadows

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  ONE

  I COULDN’T REMEMBER how I got home.

  One minute, I was running through the warehouse district, and the next, I was on my balcony, dropped to my knees. My body shook. My mask stuck to my face. I leaned over and heaved. I was covered in other people’s blood.

  The clock tower struck four—only a couple of hours until dawn.

  The glass door to my room opened and James stepped out. “Tobiah?”

  I looked up and tore the mask off my head. Cool air stung my face and throat.

  “Saints.” James rushed at me and took the mask from my clenched fingers. “What happened? Is that your blood? You look—” He shook his head.

  I must have looked like death. “It’s not my blood,” I rasped after a heartbeat. Most of it wasn’t my blood, but I couldn’t manage any more just yet.

  “Good.” His shoulders dropped as tension ran out. “A cracked rib we can hide. Minor cuts and bruises might be from sword practice. But this? What happened? Tell me everything.”

  With some encouragement—and help—I got to my feet and followed James into my quarters. I washed up, first peeling off the dirty, bloody clothes. My shirt was ripped from the falls and the fights, and maybe I’d been hit with weapons, too. I couldn’t tell one pain from another.

  Haltingly, I told James about the events of the night, from finding Romily, to the setup and betrayal, to the Nightmares and the glowmen. “I killed him,” I whispered. “Mercush. Romily’s brother.”

  “He wasn’t human anymore.” James kept his tone hard. “He killed his own sister and he would have killed you.”

  “I know.” I pulled off the wrap binding my ribs. The cloth was soaked with blood and sweat, and a huge bruise flowered over my cracked rib, still blue and purple in the center, but browning at the edges. Tonight’s events probably hadn’t helped the healing. “I know Mercush wasn’t human anymore, and that’s how I justified it to myself. But then I watched the last glowman kill the Nightmares, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

  James closed the space between us and didn’t quite touch my shoulder, like he wasn’t sure I didn’t have some grave injury there. But his voice remained calm and steady, with a new intensity. “They saw your face. They might have identified you. Still, you didn’t kill them. The glowman did. That’s not your fault.”

  Was it my fault if I could have saved them? Was my identity more important than their lives? They were Nightmares. Criminals. They consorted with Hensley and other shine-makers and flashers.

  But they were also my people, and what kind of prince was I—what kind of king would I be—if I allowed them to be slaughtered by monsters? Even monsters they’d created? Surely I could do something more than kill glowmen—and let them kill Nightmares. There had to be a better way.

  Sill, generations of kings hadn’t stopped shine and glowmen. Why did I think I could?

  Well, maybe those kings simply hadn’t been doing enough. That was why I’d resorted to vigilantism, after all.

  To complicate my problems, Hensley would soon know I’d lived, if he didn’t already. He’d be furious when he saw me. He’d take measures to protect his firefly and delivery.

  Tomorrow night. The delivery would happen tomorrow night.

  I found a clean bandage for my ribs and wrapped it tightly around. A sack of ice wouldn’t go amiss right now, but I didn’t want to wake anyone just because I’d nearly died.

  Dressed again, I ran damp fingers through my hair and staggered to the writing desk in my bedroom, grabbed a few supplies, and returned to the parlor, where I placed everything on the table. Pens. Ink. Paper.

  “What are you doing?” James followed me around, ready to help.

  “I need to write a list.” I wiped the nib clean before dipping it into the ink. “Of things I’ll need next time I go out. Can you get them?”

  “Maybe you should rest first.” James sat across from me. “At least for a few hours.”

  I couldn’t have the luxury of rest. There was too much to do. “Ranged weapons, for sure. Have I mentioned a small crossbow to you? One of the Nightmares on the roof the other day had one. I’d want mine to be even smaller. I’d have to be able to hook it to my belt.”

  “Does this mean you’re going to need a new belt too?”

  “Yes. It’ll need to hold lots of items.” I wrote as quickly as I could. “Including a pouch for painkillers. Enough for me and anyone injured I come across.”

  “You can’t medicate the whole city, Tobiah.”

  “I’m not going to try. But I need the option to help relieve pain when I see it.”

  “Fine.” He grabbed the paper and pen from me. “Just let me write. This is illegible. When was the last time you slept?”

  My hands fell to the tabletop, bruised and scratched, knuckles skinned. They needed treatment, but I didn’t want to stand up again, now that I was sitting down. “I’m not completely sure what day it is,” I admitted.

  James spent a few moments rewriting my list and complaining about my refusal to sleep. “You won’t heal like this, you know.”

  “Make sure you add plenty of crossbow bolts and a spare string.” I nodded to myself, but the motion made my head swim. “A spare mask as well. Saints, what else? I had so many ideas just the other day.”

  “I was thinking I’d make a few smoke bombs. You’d have to light a fuse, but they’d give you a way to distract people or cover yourself.”

  “Where did you learn to make smoke bombs?” I almost frowned, but it hurt too much.

  “The Academy. Chemistry.”

  I sighed. “I’ve always thought the Academy would provide a more interesting education than a string of tutors. You’ve just proven me correct.”

  He finished writing and turned to a blank page. “You’re rattled. It’s understandable. And you’re exhausted.”

  “I’m not ready to go to bed yet. There’s too much on my mind.” It was true. Though my thoughts came sluggishly, I couldn’t stop thinking. I was too tired to sleep. Too rattled.

  Rattled. What a soft word for everything I was feeling. Not that there were words for the overwhelming sense of foreboding and regret. For the uncertainty and horror.

  “Maybe,” James said after a minute, “instead of a list of supplies, we make a statement of what you—as the vigilante—stand for. What are you willing to do? What won’t you do?”

  I took several deep breaths. “That’s a good idea.” I leaned my elbows on the table and cradled my face in my hands, careful of the bruise growing on my cheek. “I don’t want to be caught off guard again. Not ever. If I make decisions about my actions in advance, I’ll react with a plan, rather than emotions.” With wrath and hatred.

  “Right. Just like sword practice. When someone swings at your head, your natural instinct is to guard your face with your arms. But if you’ve been trained, you’ll block using whatever weapon you have available.”

  That made sense. I could condition myself to respond in ways I’d never regret.

  “I’ll help you,” James said.

  My cousin’s words—my brother’s words—filled me. I didn’t deserve such a steadfast friend. Not with the secrets I was keeping from him. “Thank you.” The words weren’t enough.

  He smiled. “Let’s talk about your statement, then. If you won’t go rest.”

 
; I rubbed my face. “But I don’t know what I should have done last night. Was I right? Was I wrong? How can I decide what I stand for when I’m not sure about what I’ve already done?”

  “Then we’ll work on it when you’ve had some distance.”

  “What would you have done?”

  He sighed and leaned back in his chair, acknowledging my question with a glance and thoughtful tilt of his head. “Tell me again. Everything.”

  I did. And now that I was washed and my injuries more or less cleaned, I could think more clearly. I could put the events in order, rather than jumble them.

  James listened, pausing me to ask questions a few times, and finally he said, “I would have done the same thing.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “The same as you did.”

  My chest tightened with anxious hope. “Why?”

  “To protect you.” His eyes were hard. “I wouldn’t have killed the men directly—not unless they were a threat to your life. But they were a threat to your identity. And they chose to join the Nightmare gang. They chose to bring the glowmen there.”

  Maybe. But I couldn’t assume I knew anything about the way my people lived. Romily had pointed that out often enough. I didn’t understand the different pressures they were under, the intricacies of their lives and decisions, and why too often people felt they had no choice. No good choice. No safe choice. So they did whatever seemed best.

  Maybe one day I’d look back and decide what I’d done tonight was right. Or maybe I’d decide I’d been wrong.

  Regardless, I had to live with the guilt of my actions. My inactions. “Here’s what I do know: people hurting others, using their power to exploit and harm—that’s unacceptable.”

  “Agreed.” James made a note. “What else?”

  I wanted to say something about ignorance not being an excuse for allowing horrible things to happen, but until recently, I’d been ignorant. So maybe . . . “I want people to be aware. The nobility shouldn’t be so oblivious to others’ plights. I don’t know how to do that yet, though.”

  “Perhaps it will be as simple as stopping Hensley.”

  I snorted. There was nothing simple about stopping Hensley, especially now that he knew who I was.

  “I mean,” James went on, “when they hear stories about a vigilante, they’ll start asking why. Why does someone feel the need to do this? What is going on that makes the city so dangerous? Yes, nobles know about shine. Many know about firefly. But they haven’t seen its effects.”

  And finally, I understood. “Knowing isn’t the same as experiencing. I can’t force them to experience life in the Flags—no one deserves that—but I can show them. By being the vigilante. By making them question what they thought they knew.”

  James smiled. “That’s a good start. We’ll work on the rest later. For now, get some rest. I’d like to sleep sometime, too, you know.”

  I could have kicked myself. James had likely been here the whole time, waiting for me to come back. He’d been my guard for only a few days, but now he was always on duty. “Stay in the spare room.” I motioned toward the other door. “Later we can figure out if you need to move to closer quarters.”

  “You mean in the Dragon Wing?” He smirked as he cleaned the pen. “Wouldn’t that cause a scandal? A Rayner in the royal wing. We may be cousins, but I’m not royal.”

  He was a Pierce, truly, and he had as much right to apartments here as I did. But I’d promised Mother I wouldn’t tell him. And so I wouldn’t. Not now.

  But until then, I’d give him everything he should have had, and more.

  TWO

  MUCH TO JAMES’S relief, I slept most of the day.

  Much to everyone else’s annoyance, I missed sword training, classes, morning and afternoon court, a meeting with Captain Chuter, a walk with Lady Meredith, and two meals.

  Throughout the day, I awakened long enough to drink soup and treat my injuries. James had managed to sneak a sack of ice chips from the cellar, and we alternated resting those on my face and ribs. The cold was terrible, but it helped the pain, if not the stiffness, in my jaw; it was difficult to speak, let alone chew, but I ate what I was given. I was determined to recover in time to stop Lord Hensley’s deal with the Nightmare gang.

  By the time evening rolled in, I had no choice but to get up. My mother was hosting a family dinner tonight because Aunt Kathleen was leaving Skyvale in the morning.

  Tomorrow, James would lose his mother not just to her depression, but to distance as well. With his duties as my bodyguard, he wouldn’t be able to see her as frequently.

  Hensley hadn’t taken just Lord Roth from James, but his mother, as well.

  I dressed in a suit Aunt Kathleen had always complimented, and then set out with James to Rayner Manor.

  The sun fell toward the west, lighting the mirrors gold as we drove along the wide avenues. Trees glowed brilliant green, wind chimes clinked, manicured gardens offered their delicate perfumes, and above everything, the clock tower ticked and the Cathedral of the Solemn Hour pierced the sky and the wall separated Hawksbill from the rest of the city.

  “This whole place,” I muttered to James as we pulled into the long drive. “Hawksbill. King’s Seat. The stillness here is amazing. The peacefulness. And just over that wall . . .”

  “I know.”

  It was hard to reconcile my life here with everything that had happened just last night. The other side of the wall wasn’t that far away, but what a difference those stones made.

  “Here we are.” James said it like I hadn’t been to Rayner Manor a thousand times.

  If the house had seemed empty the last time I’d been here, on my birthday, it was positively bare now. Everything important to Aunt Kathleen had already been shipped to Hawes and the rest was either covered with sheets and closed away in rooms no longer open to visitors, or unusually orderly and dusted, ready to be packed away tomorrow morning, once the lady of the house was gone.

  “Why hold dinner here if the house is practically closed?” I kept my voice low so it wouldn’t echo in the grand entry hall.

  James shook his head. “Mother wanted to honor Lord Roth one last time.”

  She’d wanted. That was something. Aunt Kathleen had been so numb and removed from the world since Lord Roth’s murder. Perhaps going to Hawes was truly for the best; I couldn’t imagine staying in this house if I were her. Not without her late husband. Not without her son, gone to school and the palace for work, never home anyway.

  All she had was memories here.

  A sad, abandoned expression crossed James’s face, but he smoothed it away when he saw me looking. “It’s fine,” he said. “I’m not going to cry or anything.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” I nudged him, not mentioning that I’d be tempted to cry if I were in his position. “Let’s go.”

  Our boots thumped on the heavy rug as we turned in to the family dining room, still heavily decorated with silk brocade curtains over the windows, polished friezes gleaming in the gas lamplight, and portraits of generations of Rayners, including Mother and Aunt Kathleen when they were girls. They were smiling in that one, holding hands and giving each other knowing looks about . . . something. A secret.

  Now, they sat next to each other at the table, both tall and somber, one proud with the bearing of surviving such a betrayal, and the other slowly withering with loss. They had new secrets since that portrait, but neither lady was smiling.

  As always, Mother sat between Father and her sister. Aunt Kathleen sat at the head of the table—it was her home, after all—while James and I sat across from my parents. There were a handful of other places set, too, but before I could wonder who else was joining us, the door to a parlor opened and several figures strode through.

  Lord and Lady Chuter, with Chey along like an afterthought.

  Lord and Lady Corcoran, with Meredith. Not like an afterthought.

  And Lord and Lady Hensley.

  I repressed a deep shudder as Hensle
y caught my eye and offered what might have been a friendly smile if he hadn’t ordered my death just last night.

  “Good evening,” Aunt Kathleen said as all her guests found their places. Greetings rippled around the dining room.

  The girls were seated next to me—Meredith, then Chey.

  Father shot a quick, instructive glance my way. Easily deciphered. I turned to Meredith and Chey. “Good evening, my ladies.”

  They both offered demure smiles, ready with answers when I asked them about their day, but Hensley’s presence kept tugging at my attention.

  “Chey has been introducing me to her friends around the palace,” Meredith was saying. “As it turns out, we’re all quite committed to needlework of some sort. I’m hopeful that we can meet regularly to visit and work on our projects. At home, I sewed blankets and clothes to send to the shelters in the poor areas. I’d like to do the same here. I also made several pieces of clothing for chapels to give to the soldiers we send to the front lines of the wraithland.”

  “That’s such a generous use of your time, my lady.” I smiled as warmly as my bruised face would allow.

  “I always felt it was a good, responsible use. I have so much. It’s my duty to share.” Lady Meredith moved on to a description of her latest embroidery project.

  “Prince Tobiah.” Lord Hensley interrupted Meredith. A small frown passed over her features, but she smoothed it quickly and deferred to him. “I was wondering how you came across that bruise. It looks quite painful.”

  Lady Meredith made a soft noise of interest, though she was too polite to ask about my injury directly. She seemed almost relieved that Lord Hensley was not above humiliating me to satisfy curiosity. And on the other side of Meredith, Chey perked up. Their parents, too, paused their conversations.

  “It’s merely a relic of sword practice with James.” I kept my tone as smooth as possible. “He’s my new bodyguard, you know. Quite accomplished. I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so proud of having my cousin in such a prestigious position so quickly.”

  “I’m certain nepotism played no part in his placement.”